5:41 AM
by Iridesque
Summary: 5:41 am; while the birds raise their chirps in a symphony, the nightmares still reign with an iron fist. -a Clintasha fic, two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

5:41 am.

It was the chirp of a bird that woke Clint Barton up, the sound of the first bird's lonely song. Even when joined by a flurry of melodies, each harmonizing in an unearthly way, it was that one tiny chirp that unnerved him.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was more high-pitched, or louder than the others. Perhaps it was because it was the first birdsong he had heard since he arrived from New York. After all that had happened, the birds sounded familiar and the same, and he was irreversibly and undeniably changed.

His insomnia had become harder to deal with; the lack of sleep was taking a toll on him, and whenever his eyes were shut, they were plagued by nightmares.

_There were nightmares._  
Nightmares where he wasn't in control of his body,  
When he was hurting her,

And when he was too late.

He was always too late to save her.

Then again, he was the one who had hurt her in the first place.

He was up, sitting on the bed, looking around the dimly lit room, sweating and breathing heavily. On impulse, his head turned, looking at the bed next to his own, feeling his own heartbeat slow down. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was still there. She was asleep; body sprawled across the bed with her fiery locks fanning out behind her, oblivious to his searching gaze.

Swinging his legs off the bed, feeling the sore muscles protest against his movement. It was nothing unusual, he often went on missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. and he had often returned with many more injuries than this.

Returning after saving the world from a man that knew his every vulnerability as well as someone who had controlled his mind was a first, he chuckled humorlessly.

He sat on the ledge of the balcony railing, musing to himself. A week ago, he didn't even know if he was to survive. A week ago, they had been fighting alongside the Avengers. Even after the battle, they had just eaten, however awkward the affair was, and bid each other farewell.

He groaned, escaping from memory lane. Just a few days ago, he would've killed her. He was close to it too, fighting his partner on the airship, about to kill the one person that mattered to him. Luckily, she always had a trick under her sleeve. He smiled at the thought.

"Can't sleep?" a voice shook him out of his thoughts. He turned around to see the young woman standing there. She pulled out a chair, dragging it from the coffee table and sat down next to him, looking at him attentively.

"Um..." he mumbled before clearing his throat. He stepped down from the railing to sit on the ground instead. "Nightmares," he replied sheepishly.

"About?" she questioned, her vibrant eyes never leaving his.

"New York," he murmured, staring at the ground. It was like their little code. All their memories of missions were named by the city they were in. "Natasha, eventually you'll have to tell me what happened there. I'm not an idiot."

"Loki took over your mind, so it's not your fault," she said fiercely.

He visibly flinched, searching her gaze before touching the newly formed bruise on her cheek. "I did that, didn't I?" he sighed, looking away. "I hurt you," He shrunk back from her, turning towards the scenery instead.

Natasha forced herself not to wince. Seeing him this way was worse than the battle himself. She wasn't trained to deal with emotions.

"No more than you're hurting me now, Clint, to see you like this," she replied softly before getting up and heading into the hotel room. He sighed, not knowing whether to follow her or stay out of it.

Perhaps their relationship had changed as well. It was no longer a simple partnership, or even friendship, and it was taking a toll on both of them.

"We're leaving tomorrow," Natasha confirmed immediately as he arrived back into the room. Dinner had been an awkward affair, even more so than Shwarma with the rest of the team. In fact, the whole day was spent avoiding each other. "They've sent us a plane to take us to either Stark Tower or our own apartments at S.H.I.E.L.D. They want us to stay together just in case."

"Alright," he answered her pointed look before heading to his own bed. Perhaps he could get a little sleep.

Natasha watched him as he crawled under his covers. His soon steady breathing meant he was finally sleeping, and she took out a book to read. It wasn't late, and she wanted to be there if he did have a nightmare. Perhaps it would be best if she were there to help. She grabbed a book and crawled into her bed to enjoy a story.

His body was twisted around; his labored breathing and retching hands grasping the bed sheets. It was always the same nightmare. He would see himself, bow and arrow strung, ready to-

"Clint, wake up!" someone was shaking his arm, the soft voice breaking the twisted nightmare apart.

Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, his eyes scanned the room wildly before settling on her. His breathing had slowed down considerably before she spoke.

"What was it about this time? If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to," she asked gently.

"It was about," he rasped in a voice he didn't recognize. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I thought I lost you," he mumbled. "I was hurting you!" his voice escalating in volume. He turned away. "In the end, I was too late to save you. I'm so sorry," he groaned, a lone tear sliding down his cheek.

"It's only a dream, don't worry about it," she sighed, never losing her calm facade. In reality though, his words had shaken her more than it should.

"Not until I make him kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And when he wakes, he'll have just enough time to see the work he's done, and when he screams, I'll break his skull!" they were the words she truly feared. She quickly wrapped him in an embrace, much closer than she had ever been to any man.

Laying him down once more, she murmured reassurances in his ear and kept her vigil next to him.

"Don't leave me," he mumbled sleepily.

"Don't worry, I won't," she gave him a small smile. As he fell asleep, she pressed her lips to his cheek before returning to her bed, switching between her vigil and the story she had been absorbing.

"Why did you stay with me?" he asked. Three months prior, they had been fighting for their lives, and finally, the nightmares were starting to fade away. There were, of course, days where it was worse, but with Agent Romanov with him, things seemed less frightening.

"I owed you a debt," she replied simply, giving him a rare smile, "and I don't leave debts unpaid."

_[he didn't know it was her way of telling him that she truly and irreversibly cared about him.]_


	2. Chapter 2

_5:41 am. _

She woke up in a silent scream.

Panting heavily and looking around, she quickly sat up, her face in her hands. Oh how she missed the old days. Back then, she'd still be sleeping, lost in oblivion while the birds started their song, but even that was taken away from her.

She swore silently in her native tongue. She should've seen the trap! She was much more clever than those stupid goons, but this time, they had the black widow caught in her web.

It was too late to regret. They had captured her in her own game and violated her, both physically and mentally. Loki might as well have celebrated wherever he was. They had used her mind against her, projecting the false screams of her partner, eventually destroying her and striking fear where it mattered most.

He arrived eventually, like a superhero to save a 'damsel in distress.' Clint arrived with the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and rescued her in the end, but the irreversible damage was done.

She had changed. A bitter laugh escaped her mouth. Being an assassin had its dangers, she was told before every mission. She always thought death was the worst that could happen, but once again, she was wrong.

She could no longer; her dreams were plagued by nightmare after nightmare. She kept the calm facade, but she had become more cautious…less willing to go forward with her missions, and ultimately, less willing to open up to anyone. It made everyone worried, but there was nothing they could do.

"Tasha?" a sleepy voice made her jump. She turned to see Clint, half up on his bed.

"What?" she hissed, her body curled up into a ball. He had seen her at her most vulnerable and saved her from the monsters out there, but she couldn't see him as her prince-in-shining-armor. No, nothing would shine again.

"Nightmare?" he guessed, sitting up. "If you tell me about it, maybe you'll feel better," he suggested quietly.

"You'd never understand," she mumbled, tensing up even more.

He stood up and took her in his arms. "Remember New York? I thought you would never understand either, but you still listened and it helped. I want to be able to help too, Nat," he sighed softly.

"Not now," she managed to sit up and stare at her bed sheets, willing him to forget what had happened. She tensed as his arms wrapped around her own.

"If you don't want to tell me right now, just know that I'm always here for you," he murmured into her ear, wrapping the blanket around the both of them and pulling her back to into the mattress. If the healing process was going to take time, then so be it, he decided. Together, with her body fitted against his, they drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Once again, she woke up in a silent scream.

It had been a month from the incident. There were dreams like these all the time actually, more often than not. Occasionally, she could forget about them, or hide it behind an excuse. Make up could hide her eye-bags, and caffeine often helped with the energizing process.

Unfortunately for her, they had just finished a mission and were sharing a room for that night.

Even worse, he was still awake.

"Nat! It's okay, it was a dream," Clint comforted her quietly, an arm around her shoulders. Though she was used to physical contact, especially from her partner in crime, her body produced an involuntary shiver. "I'm still here to listen if you need me," he murmured.

For a minute, she allowed her fears of abandonment to escape. Moving into the hug, she decided to trust him, praying that it would be a good decision.

"They-" she started. "I thought they had captured you too, and they used it against me! I'm worthless to the cause if I can't distinguish the line between my emotions and my duty!" she hissed, tightening her grip on his shirt.

"What do you mean?" Clint questioned uneasily, slightly confused.

Her nails dug into his skin and he winced slightly. "They fulfilled Loki's promise. They used you against me," she whispered, barely audible.

His gaze darkened. "What did Loki say?" he asked coldly.

"It's not important," she replied, pressing her tear-stained face into his chest.

"Tell me, Nat. Please let me in," he asked with a tone of near-desperation.

"He said he would make you kill me, okay? And you would wake up to see your work and he'd split you skull!" she nearly screeched, her high pitched cry forcing the tears out of her own eyes.

Clint tightened his own embrace. "I'd never let that happen, you know that right?" he replied with a small laugh. "I'll never let anyone hurt you ever again, Nat. If they do, they'll pay for it, I promise. Don't worry," he murmured reassurances into her ear.

Perhaps it wasn't so hard to trust after all.

Waking up the next morning, she realized that it was the first time she had slept soundly in a long time. Perhaps, she could even get used to it with a little time.

A month could change everything, Natasha decided. A month ago, the nightmares had kept everyone out, but things were easier to deal with. Who knew that letting the famous Hawkeye comfort her at night would have helped so much?

After a long day of paperwork, Clint finally took the chance to ask Natasha out for a cup of coffee. "You need it," he had claimed. "Paperwork's too boring for you," he teased her. It was a quiet time, the silence appreciated by both as they sat together, sipping on hot drinks.

"Why did you help me?" her outburst surprised Clint. They had kept with pointless small talk for a while before giving in to the serene music playing in the background. Her question seemed out of place.

He questioned the logistics of the statement. Did she mean to ask about the nightmares, or a previous mission? "What do you mean?" he finally decided to go with the safer answer.

"I meant those nights after...well, you know," she muttered irritably, her hands wrapping around her mug.

"Well, I guess I just really wanted to help out," he scratched his head, trying to cover the tinge of red on his cheeks.

"You didn't have to do it, you know that, right?" she pushed. "It's not your duty to fix me up whenever I get hurt, so thank you," her face was also tinged with red. She wasn't used to relying on anyone at all, especially not thanking someone for their help. All her life had been revolved around independence.

He had changed her, and never was she happier to have allowed someone into her life.

His smirk- no, grin was evident, wider than she had ever seen him smile. He hesitated for a moment.

"What can I say? I owed you a debt," he laughed, "and I don't leave debts unpaid."

_[No one would ever see the kiss she gave him on the cheek, and no one would ever know how much he longed to tell her what she meant to him.]_


End file.
